Theatre of Horrors: Frankenstein at Halloween

In the shadows of a quiet, cobbled alleyway in Pigalle – a Parisian district notorious for its unashamed decadence and sleaze – sits an unassuming theatre; a former chapel, complete with neo-Gothic wood panelling and iron-railed boxes. The spectators take up their seats in the auditorium, eager for the show to begin. It is an unusual space, eerie and claustrophobic, quite unlike the bourgeois theatres of Paris.

The curtain rises.

A prostitute is trapped in a bedroom with a psychopathic killer; a man embraces his daughter before shooting her in the head; a woman’s face smokes and melts as it is doused in vitriol; a young nanny strangles the children in her care. Members of the audience begin to lose consciousness while a desperate house doctor attempts to revive them; gallant young men blanch and cover their eyes, and tightly corseted women (we are in the 19th century, by the way) gasp for breath and hold their hands to their mouths. For this is no ordinary theatre – this is the Théâtre du Grand-Guignol. Or, to be specific, was the Théâtre du Grand-Guignol: the most successful theatre of horror Europe has had the displeasure to host.

Opened in 1897 by French playwright Oscar Méténier, Théâtre du Grand-Guignol measured its success by the number of faints it induced – a rather organic alternative to the conventional review – and my, were there a few. Specialising in eye-gouging, throat-slashing, acid-throwing, or some other equally grisly climax, the Grand-Guignol theatre became one of the most popular tourist attractions in Paris, enticing audience members with productions that threatened to ignore the boundaries of what should be explored upon a stage. The thing is (was), the public craved it. If nothing else, it was an experience like no other – there were not many places you could watch mutilation on a Tuesday evening. At least, none that had a distinct marketing campaign.

Although the early 1960s saw a disenchantment with the theatre, the Grand-Guignol has made a lasting impression on the art of horror performance and special effects that has yet to be rivalled or, indeed, attempted.

So what’s the deal with contemporary horror theatre? The answer: there is not a lot of it around. The Woman in Black continues to haunt the stalls of the West End and Les Enfants Terribles’ Ernest and the Pale Moon caused me to reflexively propel my fingers into my ears on a number of occasions, but on the whole it is a genre little explored and difficult to nail. An interactive evening of Zombie Scare: Apocalypse Is Nigh is hardly a fulfilling theatrical experience.

Thus, it was intriguing to discover the approach of a new adaptation of Mary Shelley’s gothic masterpiece, Frankenstein. Danny Boyle’s intelligent 2011 production (notable for Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller’s alternating roles as Frankenstein and Creature) roused critical acclaim at the National, and now Liverpool-based company Adenuf Productions has revived the classic text once again, but with the brave intention to unsettle its audience. Although the text alone holds the power to scare, full of pathetic fallacy – ‘It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils’ – the programming is enviably perfect: the production takes place on Halloween at Liverpool’s Bombed-Out Church.

Headed by writer, producer and director Ian Carroll, Adenuf has earned a formidable reputation for sharp storytelling. “For me, the driving force of any project is the story,” stresses Carroll. “It has to be a story that you want to share with the world, a story that your audience want to hear. If you fail to engage your audience you will fail to provoke a reaction as strong as fear.”

Written by Carroll himself, the script remains faithful to Shelley’s narrative and dialogue while highlighting the very darkest aspects of the text: “I decided to exclude a lot of Creature’s personal explorations: how he came to speak, his naïve awe of the world,” he explains. “My intention was never to evoke compassion from my audience – I wanted the monster to remain eerily in the background. The fright that he provokes by lurking in the shadows, the audience unfamiliar and uncertain – that’s what I wanted.”

Although discarding almost half of the original text to achieve a succinct running time of 90 minutes, Carroll is adamant that Shelley’s words will remain the driving force of the production. “For me the real horror lies in the narrative and its ability to get under your skin. It has a psychological power that I was keen to emanate. Even after numerous re-readings there are certain vivid scenes that make the hairs on my arms stand up. When the monster presents himself to Frankenstein, leaping across the glaciers, there is a real sense of menace there and I have tried not to lose that in the script.”

Recognised globally by his olive-green hue and bolted neck, Frankenstein’s monster is a recurring image in horror culture, but Carroll is determined to provide a more sophisticated fright: “Mine is not a nuts-and-bolts monster of the flesh,” he protests. “Mine is a monster of the mind. It is not a gore fest; there will be no cheap gimmicks, and yet there are several points in the production that will force the audience to peek through their fingers while squirming in their seats. We intend to infiltrate the conscience of the audience through three key ingredients: the script, the acting and the venue.”

And what a venue it is. The atmospheric husk of a Blitz-ravished church, exposed to the mercy and unpredictability of the elements, much like the Théâtre du Grand-Guignol the space itself is vital in capturing the tone of the performance. The church’s imposing brick walls and veiled corners have provided Carroll with a ready-made set.

“Site-specific work obviously presents a host of challenges and it is fair to say I am a little out of my comfort zone," he admits, "but I can live with that: I have essentially acquired a set that cannot be bettered.”

A little horror on Halloween? Shelley would be pleased. Let’s hope for lightning, eh?